


Wisdom nor Pride

by LadyNighteyes



Category: Radiant Historia
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Gen, I have a favorite character and I show my affection by writing him as a traumatized child, Not Fluff, Post-Canon, Spoilers, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 11:12:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12703830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNighteyes/pseuds/LadyNighteyes
Summary: 10-year-old Prince Ernst wakes up in a room he's never seen before. It goes badly.





	Wisdom nor Pride

**Author's Note:**

> _Don't give me love, don't give me faith,_  
>  _Wisdom nor pride, give innocence instead._  
>  \- “The Crow, the Owl, and the Dove,” Nightwish
> 
> This is why you don’t tell me a random fic/art trope that’s prevalent in another fandom. It will get out of hand.
> 
> Thanks to quicksilver-ink, keltena, and the others who I begged to read over this once my brain stopped functioning from looking at the file too long.
> 
> Bad opinions on architecture, urban planning, military tactics, effective kidnapping procedure, etc. are not those of the author, but liberties taken with interpretation of game maps are all on me.

"This is going to be bad."

"I was sort of expecting him to be immune, y’know? With the whole... time thing."

Ernst kept his eyes closed. He didn't recognize the voices. But whoever these people were, if they thought he was still asleep, they might say something they wouldn't otherwise.

"It can't be any worse than me, though, right?" That was a woman's voice- he couldn't place the accent.

"Maybe not, but think about it, Raynie. We don't know for sure if he'll even remember his name." That one was a man, with the borderlands in his voice.

There was a silence. Ernst didn't dare peek to see their expressions. "Yeah, I guess we don't, huh?" the woman said. Her voice sounded rough, pained. “He might not remember _anything_.”

“It might be easier for us if he doesn’t, though. You know what Stocke’s like about following doctors’ orders to start with, and... well, he’s _royalty_.”

“He’s just a kid, Marc. And besides, _you_ know what he’s like, too. I can’t see him wanting us executed for looking at him funny, no matter what he remembers.”

“I- I didn’t mean it like that! It’s just... are you sure this is the best plan?”

“It’s not like you had a better one.”

“Well, no, but... I wish he’d warned us.”

“Yeah. Would’ve made this a lot easier if we didn’t have to guess.” Then she said, with forced cheerfulness, "Well, might as well find out."

Footsteps. Then the woman's voice said, from beside the bed, "Stocke?" Then, quieter, she added, "...Ernst?"

Something touched his shoulder. On reflex, he scrambled away, trying to get as much room as possible between him and it. The bed was narrower than he expected, though, little more than a cot- he hit the floor and found himself with his back to a wall.

The woman was standing on the other side of the bed, hand still out, looking shocked. She had long black hair and wore a scandalously low-cut dress, and he'd never seen her before in his life.

"Are you all right?" she asked. Her concern sounded genuine, but she knew his name and she'd still touched him, and that limited the possibilities considerably. Very few of those left were good.

Don't show fear. Never show fear. He'd slipped up- he needed to get the situation back under control as fast as possible. "I apologize, ma'am. You startled me," he said, getting to his feet. Best to be polite; they might be less careful if they thought he was cooperative.

He surreptitiously glanced around the room. Small and sparsely-furnished. The bedframe was plain metal, the sheets cheap white cloth. A bare metal table. No windows, only one door, white thaumlights set into the ceiling. Walls of stone and wood, rather than the usual plaster. More comfortable than he would have expected from a jail cell, but obviously not a normal bedroom. The door was open, but there was no hope of leaving just yet- a figure that must have been the second voice stood in it. He was even shorter than Ernst, but heavyset. And he wore a helmet, and Ernst didn't like his chances unarmed against a soldier, even one his size.

Where were his guards?

No fear. He stood as straight as he could- his etiquette tutor would have killed for him to do that more- and looked the woman in the eyes. "Excuse me, ma’am, but where am I?" he asked.

"You hit your head. This is a hospital," she said. It was a terrible choice of lie. The Royal Physician would be here if he'd been hurt, and he would have been taken back to his room at the castle, guards on alert in case someone tried to make an attempt on his life while he was vulnerable.

"Can you tell us how old you are?" asked the man.

"Ten," Ernst said. A strange question- his age was a matter of public record. How could they know who he was and not know that? “Are you doctors?” he asked, as if he didn’t know the answer.

The man opened his mouth to answer, but the woman laughed, cutting him off. “Nah, we’re soldiers. Marc here is a field medic and I’m just muscle.”

He almost asked aloud, _Why would a hospital have soldiers watching the patients?_ before he caught himself.

“The doctor will be here soon, though,” said the man. "Can you keep an eye on him, Raynie?"

"Sure," she said. "Doesn't look like he's going anywhere."

The man nodded and left, and the woman took up his spot, leaning against the doorframe. She had well over a foot of height on Ernst and the muscles of a guardswoman; he was even less inclined to rate his chances of getting past her than the man. He stood still, hands at his sides where they couldn't betray his nervousness.

"Sorry about all this," she said, smiling in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring. "I'm Raynie. I'm... a friend."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," he said, though he wondered, _Whose friend?_

For some reason, she laughed. "Man, you're a polite kid," she said. "I'm kind of surprised."

He kept his face politely neutral; he wasn’t sure exactly what her intent was, with a compliment that backhanded.

There was a long silence. She shifted uncomfortably. “So,” she said, “are you feeling okay? That was a pretty good knock you took.”

“What happened exactly, if you don’t mind my asking?” he asked, since it seemed to be expected.

“You don’t remember? You fell off a horse onto cobblestones. Big one, too, and it looked real mean. Dunno why they thought it’d be a good idea to give you that one.”

He nodded. No one in the royal family rode horses in the city, and they wouldn’t let him near the ill-tempered ones in the stables. “Why wasn’t I returned home?” he asked. “I would have thought that would be what Father would want.”

“This hospital was much closer,” she said. “It was safer than moving you all that way.”

If that was true, his guards would have been everywhere. He nodded.

The woman glanced over her shoulder, and her expression changed.

"That was quick," she said to someone behind her, and stepped aside.

Another woman entered, though she hesitated for a moment in the doorway, staring at him with an expression he couldn't place. Once that frozen moment passed, though, she moved with businesslike efficiency. She was of middling height, paler than the soldier, her brown hair drawn back with a headband and her dress long and sensible. She carried a clipboard. He stood even straighter as she approached, resisting the urge to back away.

"My name is Doctor Sonja," she said. She had a surprisingly rural accent for a doctor. "I need you to hold still for me so I can make sure you're not hurt. Don't worry, I won't touch you." The reminder of his mistake stung.

It wasn't like he had much of a choice, though. "Yes, ma'am," he said, and closed his eyes as he felt the trailing tendrils of a healing spell brush his body, searching for injuries. They withdrew quickly, and when he opened his eyes he saw a green glow fading from the woman's hand.

She made a few notes, then said, "I'm going to move my finger, and I want you to follow it with your eyes. Can you do that for me?" He nodded.

It was a familiar ritual- he'd been through it last time he'd fallen during fencing practice, though she used some sort of device to shine light in his eyes rather than conjuring it with magic as the Royal Physician did. Maybe she really _was_ a doctor.

She turned off the light, seeming satisfied. "What does your bedroom look like?" she asked briskly as she wrote.

Ernst couldn’t hide his confusion. "What?"

"I need to make sure there's nothing wrong with your memory. All I need is a few details. Is the floor stone, wood, or carpet? What does your bed look like?"

She might be fishing for information, but if so, he couldn't figure out to what end. It wasn't as though the location of his room was a secret. "Stone tiles, with a blue and red rug," he said. “And a four-poster bed with a red canopy.”

She wrote that down, too. "Thank you, Your Highness," she said. "If you'll wait here, I'll have someone bring you something to eat. You must be hungry."

He was. But he wasn't nearly hungry enough to touch anything they gave him.

The two women left, the black-haired soldier glancing over her shoulder at him as she closed the door. As soon as he heard the latch click, he pressed his ear to the door, listening.

"'Your Highness'? So you think he remembers?" That was the black-haired woman's voice; she sounded anxious.

"He does. He can't usually answer that type of question at all."

 _Can’t usually..._ How long had he been here? What had they been _doing_ to him?

“Do you think he’ll still remember everything when he goes back to normal?” That was the man from earlier; he must have been waiting outside.

"Your guess is as good as mine, I’m afraid. You're the ones who've been through it."

"But he's different."

"I know. But unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do but wait and see."

The voices retreated.

What had _that_ meant?

Ernst sighed and went back to the bed, sitting down with his hands clasped in his lap and staring at his shoes. He hadn’t heard the lock close, but he doubted they'd be gone long, and if they caught him wandering when they came back, they wouldn't make that mistake again.

So. They’d lied to him, and their acting might have been convincing if they’d chosen their story better. And when they’d thought he wasn’t listening, they’d spoken as if he’d been here for some time. He certainly didn’t remember ever seeing this place before today, but...

He felt lucid, but no matter how hard he tried to remember anything that might help him figure out how he’d gotten here, whatever had happened before he woke up was a blur. Ernst realized with a sickening feeling that he couldn’t even remember what month it was. Had they drugged him? Used some sort of magic on him to affect his mind? If they had, had it worn off, or was he still under its effects? And there was that faint, niggling, almost itchy feeling of discomfort that filled his whole body from the top of his head to the soles of his shoes, that-

His shoes.

Why had he been asleep, on top of the bedsheets, wearing _shoes_?

He hadn't even thought about what he was wearing until now. He looked down at himself- a green silk waistcoat embroidered with gold over a white shirt, black trousers and black boots. Normal clothes, though he’d never have intentionally slept in them, and they looked clean. Strange; it seemed to indicate he hadn't been here long, but the way they’d talked outside-

There was a knock on the door. He jumped, then sat up straight and, keeping the quaver out of his voice, said, "Come in."

It was the doctor. She held a wooden tray and a glass of water, and she set them both on the table beside him. "If you'd like any more food, just ask," she said. "You're free to leave this room, but we'd like you to stay in this ward for today for observation."

So, he had a time limit. Whatever they had planned, it would be much sooner than she'd said- they'd want leeway. "Thank you, ma'am."

"You're welcome,” she said, smiling. “Is there anything else you’d like? A book to read?”

He shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“All right. If you change your mind, just come to me and ask. I'll leave you to your lunch." She nodded to him and left, closing the door behind her.

She'd left off his title, he noticed. If they wanted to lull him into a false sense of safety, wouldn't it make more sense to give him full deference? And if not, why the false friendliness?

The tray held a sandwich- no tableware he could use as a tool or a weapon. Ernst tried not to look at it; it would just remind him of how hungry he was.

How long should he wait? If he left the room immediately, she'd know he hadn't touched the food, but if it was drugged or poisoned, leaving at all might betray the ruse. The clock was ticking, though, and he certainly couldn't get away from in here, nor was there anywhere to hide the food, even if he poured the water out-

He was going in circles. There were too many unknowns. Anything he did would be a gamble; might as well waste as little time as possible. He sighed, stood up, and opened the door.

He stopped, staring.

The hallway was full of flowers. There were planters all around the walls, blooming dusty pink and red-orange, leaves growing thick and glossy despite the lack of any visible windows. Pillar-shaped, softly-glowing lights jutted out from the wall at intervals. Exposed metal pipes wound their way along the walls, disappearing into floors, ceiling, corners.

What sort of building _was_ this?

The hall was lined with neatly-spaced wooden doors, numbered plaques beside them, and ended to the right in a pair of double doors. At the other end, it turned, and a desk sat in the corner. The doctor sat behind it, writing something. There was a comfortable-looking leather armchair beside it and the space behind it held a small potted evergreen tree and more flowers, but Ernst recognized a watch post when he saw one. The main door was probably that way.

The doctor glanced at him at the sound of the door closing, but didn't spare him any more attention than that. That was both a good and a bad sign- it meant they probably didn't intend to drug him into a stupor, but also that they thought the only way he could get out was through the front door.

It didn't mean that was true, however. Best to start looking- even if there weren't any exits, he might find something he could use in an escape.

His room was number seven of ten. The door across from his was closed, and he heard muffled voices from inside that sounded like the soldiers from before. Ernst gave it a wide berth. Rooms nine and ten, at the end, were empty. He checked them anyway, but they looked no different from his: a bed and a bare table, no sign of windows or convenient air vents.

The double doors were next. They were locked; the lock looked less complex than the ones in the castle that his uncle was teaching him to pick, and he might have tried to get it open if he had the tools, time, and assurance that the doctor wouldn't see him. But of course, he had none of those things. He stood up on tiptoe to peer in through the glass set into the upper part of the doors, though he half-expected the scrape of a chair from down the hall and a voice telling him off at any moment.

The room was large and spacious, with a bed or table in the middle covered in white cloth. There were cabinets in the corner, racks of neatly-organized tools he couldn't guess the use of, a thaumlight on some sort of long, jointed arm by the table. A cart with a metal tray on it, holding who knew what. There were more flowers and lights around the walls, a cot on wheels to one side, a pile of boxes he couldn’t make out the labels on, and what looked like a wooden screen folded up in the corner. Some sort of operating room, he thought; a torture chamber wouldn't have windows. Something caught his eye, and he leaned in even closer, trying to see. Something large and metal lay on a table on the left side of the room. It looked rather like an arm, though oversized and bulky and with long, bladed claws for fingers. It reminded him of nothing so much as-

An icy realization hit him. Part of a thaumachine.

He couldn’t... be in Alistel, could he?

The pipes, the lights- it made sense. No wonder the doctor had forgotten to use his title; Alistel didn't have hereditary nobility.

Alistel might not be at active war with Granorg, but they had been recently and it was just a matter of time until they were again. If the war hadn't rekindled already- however these people had captured him, there was no way they could have gotten him all the way across the continent without his absence being noticed. Even if they'd covered their tracks well, Alistel would be near the top of the list of suspects for any major crime committed against the royal family. Were they hoping that having him as a hostage would tie his father's hands? What would they do if the king called their bluff?

He turned and walked back down the hallway, forcing his thoughts off his face. The doctor looked up as he approached, and he gave her a smile that he hoped she would think was real.

Rooms five and six were empty. After them were a locked door on one side and a restroom on the other; he gave the restroom a cursory check, but it too was empty of anything of interest.

The next room was not.

The door was already standing open when Ernst approached. It looked like some sort of supply room, the walls lined with shelves full of boxes. He saw stacks of paper, what seemed to be spare bedsheets, towels; it wasn't exactly what he'd been hoping to find, but it was something.

And there was a boy lying on his stomach on the floor, surrounded by sheets of paper.

He had white-blond hair kept shorter than Ernst's, and wore a plain white shirt and brown trousers of some sort of simple cloth. While he looked as though he wasn’t much older than Ernst, even lying down it was obvious he was much taller. He was drawing something, and the papers around him were covered in doodles. He looked up, then sat up when he saw Ernst in the doorway.

"Hello!" the boy said. His accent was pure Alistel. "Are you a patient too?"

Ernst hesitated, then nodded. He itched to search the room for anything useful, but he couldn’t with the other boy there. Maybe he’d get a chance if he played along.

"My name's Rosch. What's yours?" He had a friendly face, despite his intimidating height.

"Ernst," he said without thinking, then suppressed a wince at his own stupidity. Oh well- at least he wouldn’t have to explain if the boy overheard someone say his name.

"Isn't that the name of some bigwig from Granorg?" Rosch said.

"My family named me after him, since I was born just after he was." Uncle Heinrich had told someone that once, when they'd gone down into the city in disguise and Ernst had made the same mistake.

Rosch nodded. "Like how my neighbors named their baby Viola. Are you from Granorg?"

"Yes." There wasn't much point denying it; his accent would give him away.

"Is it true they don't have thaumatech there at all?"

Ernst thought of his father's guns, thought of being led down through the basement library and shown the spell to cast if someone was after him and all his guards were dead, thought of the lines of ancient, silent machines hidden in stone tombs, and lied, "Yes."

"Huh." Ernst was glad he didn't ask for more details. "So, what are you doing in Alistel?"

What should he say? If he said his family was in town on business, Rosch would ask even more questions. "I don't remember." Well, it was true.

"What, did you hit your head too?"

Suspicion grew, sharp-edged in his mind. "'Too?'"

"Yeah, that's why I'm here,” the other boy said, twiddling his pencil between two fingers. “I don't really remember what happened, but the doctor says I fell off the side of a flight of stairs."

"Are you feeling any better?" Ernst asked politely, keeping his face a mask of friendly interest.

"I feel fine," Rosch said, shrugging. "Nothing hurts or anything. But the doctor said they needed to watch me until this afternoon to make sure there wasn’t anything else wrong."

Ernst didn’t let his expression change. “I see,” he said. “How long have you been here?”

“Dunno. I woke up a few hours ago, but I don’t know when they brought me in.”

Interesting. Ernst knelt down to look at the papers on the floor. "What are you drawing?"

"Lots of stuff. There's nothing else to do in here," Rosch said. He picked up the picture closest to him and held it up for Ernst to inspect.

It was not any easier to identify from the new angle. "What is it?" Ernst asked, as politely as he could.

"Some of the miners from up in the mountains were talking about this big spiky worm monster they saw in the mine," the boy said. "So I drew it."

Ernst nodded. He still didn't see it. "Do you mind if I use this piece?" he said, picking out the sheet of paper that seemed to have the least drawn on it.

"Sure. They're just doodles," Rosch said, and held out a pencil. Ernst took it, giving him a brief smile.

Ernst didn’t enjoy drawing. He'd had art tutors, but all they had done was make him acutely aware of how badly his sketches conveyed what he wanted them to. Instead, he started to write.

Then he paused. What was the literacy rate in Alistel? He knew many of Granorg’s best scientists and engineers had left with Noah’s rebellion, but the bulk of the rebels had been poor farmers. And that had been more than fifty years ago; he had no idea what it would be like now. He scribbled out what he’d written.

The other boy was industriously drawing something that might have been a spearman stabbing the monster, but might have been a lizard. Ernst tapped him on the shoulder, then held the paper up to him.

 _Can you write?_ it said.

Rosch blinked. "Huh? Yeah, why?"

 _The doctor might be listening and I don't want her to hear_ , he wrote.

"Can't we just whisper?" asked Rosch, much quieter.

 _Whispers can carry_ , Ernst wrote. His uncle had told him that once on their way out of the castle.

The other boy sighed longsufferingly, pulled over another piece of paper with more blank space than the one he'd been drawing on, and wrote in a wobbly, unpracticed hand, _wat is it?_

_You don’t remember hitting your head?_

_no_

_Don’t you think that’s odd?_

_not relly_

Ernst hesitated, trying to find the words for what he needed to say. Then he wrote, _My family never leaves Granorg, and I don’t know how I could have gotten here. The people here lied when I asked where I was._ He paused again, then added, _Can you think of any reason someone would want to kidnap you?_

“Are you serious?” Rosch said, out loud.

“Shhh!” Ernst said, but nodded. _My family has money_ , he wrote. _I think they might have kidnapped me to hold me for ransom_. It wasn’t _strictly_ a lie.

“You’re kidding.”

Ernst shook his head. _Those soldiers told me I was in Granorg. Why would they lie to me like that otherwise?_

“What-” Rosch started to say, but Ernst pointed insistently at the paper. _wat soldiers?_

_The black haired woman and the short man. Did you see them?_

_they were soldiers?_

_Yes. I heard them say so._

_they wernt waring uniforms_

That hadn’t occurred to him. But then, it wasn’t as if he knew what Alistellian uniforms looked like. _They could be trying to hide that they’re from the army_ , he wrote.

Rosch frowned, looking confused but thoughtful.

“Are you from this area?” Ernst said, out loud.

“Huh? Yeah, we live a little out of the city. Mom works at a cloth factory.”

 _Did they ask you about her?_ Ernst wrote. When Rosch looked even more confused, he turned the paper over and added, _How to find your family. She’d be worried about you, right?_

“What are you saying?” Rosch said, though at least he whispered this time.

It had been a stab in the dark, but it seemed he’d been right. _So they didn’t ask?_

After a long pause, Rosch wrote, _no_.

Ernst waited. Best to let the other boy come to the conclusion himself.

 _why wud they want me?_ Rosch wrote.

 _I don’t know_. Ernst knew better than to say that he suspected the other boy had been brought here as a test subject for whatever they were planning for him.

_wut shud we do? shud we talk to them?_

“No!” Ernst said, and then cringed at his mistake. _No_ , he wrote. _They’ll lock us up if they realize we’re onto them._

_so you think we shud run?_

_Yes, but we can’t get out the front door with the doctor there. Do you know another way out?_

Rosch gave him an odd look. _just run past her_ , he wrote. _the desk will slo her down_

 _There’s probably some sort of trap or alarm in the desk. She’ll set it off if we try._ He wasn’t entirely sure about that, but security couldn’t really be as light as it looked. If the soldiers were that far from the watchpost, they must have some other way to try to keep him here. He knew very little about thaumatech, but surely if it could make giant fighting machines, it would let you press a button and drop a portcullis, or fill an area with sleeping gas?

 _so distract her_ , Rosch wrote, with the air of one stating the blindingly obvious.

_But how?_

Rosch frowned, looking up at the ceiling and tapping his pencil against his lips. Then he wrote, _say 1 of the soldiers asked for her?_

_She won’t believe that, will she?_

_do you have a bettr idea?_

That was the problem, wasn’t it. _They’re in room 8. We’ll need to really talk to them in case she’s watching._

Rosch nodded decisively, and started to stand up.

“Wait!” Ernst said, and quickly scribbled, _We need to get rid of these notes. Give me everything you wrote on._

Rosch hadn’t confined his writing to one paper the way Ernst had, but there still wasn’t much in the bundle he handed over with a quizzical expression. Ernst took it, added his own page, and straightened the papers into a neat stack. He didn’t like doing this, but he didn’t have another option. He reached out with his soul, gathered a handful of magic, and held it close until it caught.

His magic instructors had told him that every part of that description was wrong, but it was still what it felt like to him.

The papers vanished in a puff of flame, Rosch reeled back in surprise, and Ernst realized a moment too late that he’d just given himself away. Precocious magic was one of the foremost and most well-known markers of royal blood. He could try to pretend to be a lesser noble, but when he’d already given his real name and lied about his family, Rosch would surely-

“Why didn’t you say you could do that?” Rosch said, eyes bright with excitement.

That hadn’t been the reaction Ernst expected. “What?”

Rosch scrambled around among the remaining sheets of paper, and wrote, _we wont have to talk to the soldiers if you burn sumthing. she will get up if theres smoke so set a bed on fier_

“I can’t do that!” Ernst said, horrified. Once, when he was five, he'd caught the curtains on fire and it had spread- all he could remember of it now was smoke and fear, but he was reminded of it every time he saw the burn scar on the face of the guard who'd pulled him from the room. And if this really was a hospital...

“S-sorry,” said Rosch, looking taken aback. “Still, if you-” He caught himself, and started writing furiously instead. When he held it up, it read, _you cud take a string and tie it to sumthing in anuther room and wen it burns thru it falls and makes noise_

It... might work. It was certainly less risky than talking to the soldiers. _Is there string in here?_

_lets look_

Ernst nodded.

 

Searching a room this cramped with someone as large as Rosch in complete silence proved to be harder than Ernst had anticipated. The process of taking down boxes, shuffling through them, and putting them back where they came from provided plenty of opportunities to bump into each other, and Ernst had felt a moment of abject terror when he jostled a box of pencils and Rosch barely managed to catch it before it hit the floor with a clatter. That had set off another frantic exchange of notes, with Rosch suggesting that they use that box in their distraction and Ernst adamantly refusing; what if a pencil caught, rolled under the bed, and set the wall burning?

Rosch had been visibly disappointed. He seemed... _excited_ about all this, somehow. Well, it wasn't as if he knew just how much danger they were in; who knew how he'd react if he realized. For the other boy’s sake, Ernst tried not to let too much of his anxiety show.

In the end, they found enough. No string, but a box of dusty old bandages they’d found in a corner would do just as well. A nearly-empty bottle with a faded “Disinfectant” label that smelled strongly of alcohol had rolled under one of the shelves; Ernst was nervous about giving the fire more fuel, but he knew they’d probably need it to make certain the fuse didn’t sputter out. A pile of plain brown cloaks had been a surprising find- some were even close to Ernst’s size, and he wondered whether they belonged to the short soldier, or if they were intended for moving captives without them being recognized.

 _do you need help seting it up?_ Rosch wrote.

Ernst thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. _She’s more likely to notice what we’re doing if both of us leave._

Rosch nodded, excitement shining in his eyes.

_I’ll get rid of the rest of the notes now. We may not have time afterward._

Rosch nodded again, and handed Ernst the sheet he’d been writing on, on the back of a drawing Ernst thought might be of a tiger. He closed his eyes, opened them again, and watched the drawing crumble into ash.

Then he left, carrying the bottle and a handful of bandages with him.

Five minutes later, he slipped back in, picked up the bundle of cloth off the floor, and stood with his back to the wall behind the door. Rosch looked like he wanted to ask how it had gone, but followed Ernst’s lead, coming to stand beside him. Ernst nodded acknowledgement, and hoped his racing heart wasn't as loud as it seemed to him.

He had no idea how long he could expect to wait; it wasn’t as if he’d done anything like this before. The bandage might not burn through- he’d soaked the fuse and the knot where it met the rest of the cord with the disinfectant, but it might not be enough. Or it could be too much- he’d picked a pipe to tie it to that was as far from the walls or the bed as he could get, but even then he’d been limited to the ones that came far enough down from the ceiling that he could reach them by standing on the table. And he’d used the glass of water as the weight so when it hit the floor, the water might put out any remaining sparks, but...

Beside him, Rosch shuffled impatiently.

Scenario after scenario played out in Ernst’s head. The door could be locked. They could trigger some sort of thaumatech trap. There could be guards waiting outside. The doctor could check this room first because she’d seen him coming back here, instead of following the sound. She might not hear, or might not pay attention, or the soldiers might come out of their room instead. The entire building could go up in flames because of _him_ -

From down the hallway, Ernst heard the sound of shattering glass. He froze.

A chair scraping against the stone floor, then footsteps. Ernst pressed his back closer against the wall, and the bundle he was holding closer to his chest.

The footsteps slowed as they got closer, and he held his breath. The doctor couldn’t see them with the open door in the way, but what if she guessed what they were up to?

Then the sound continued past the door, and he breathed out.

“Rosch? Ernst?” said the doctor’s voice from down the hall. “Did something happen?” There was the faint sound of a door opening.

Ernst ran.

The door wasn’t locked, and no trap sprung when he burst through it into a wide, empty stone hallway. No sign of guards. No flowers here, though the walls were still chased with pipes and large thaumlights were set in at the same regular intervals. He heard Rosch behind him, picked a direction, and ran that way, taking a turn down the second hallway he saw, then another turn at the second hallway after that. He saw a promising-looking dark corner and ducked in, grabbing the other boy’s sleeve and pulling him in after him.

Ernst pushed one of the robes he’d taken from the storeroom into Rosch’s hands. “Wear this,” Ernst whispered as he pulled the other robe on, putting the hood up to shadow his face. “Don’t run unless the soldiers spot us. If we can’t find our way out, I’ll need you to ask someone for directions. Got it?”

“Got it,” said Rosch, grinning.

A few minutes’ wandering put them in a larger, wider hallway, and they followed it up stairs and further along to wide, open doors onto some sort of courtyard. Ernst was surprised how quiet it was; he’d expected _some_ commotion as they tried to find him. Perhaps the fact that he was here was a secret?

No one paid the two of them any more mind when they exited than they had inside. Rosch barked a triumphant laugh as they emerged and threw an arm around Ernst’s shoulders. Ernst stiffened, then forced himself to relax and fake a smile back once Rosch let him go. Rosch was Alistellian; he probably would have no idea of what proper etiquette towards royalty was even if he knew who Ernst really was.

“C’mon,” the other boy said, “let’s go!”

Ernst hesitated, looking around the area they’d emerged into.

He’d thought it was a courtyard, but there was no grass, or even bare ground. Just an open area of paving stones, dotted with pots blooming with white flowers, buildings rising on all sides- but no, it wasn’t even that, he realized as he looked up. There was a ceiling up there, high, high above, dark wood and dark metal. But it wasn’t easy to build a room this high; that had to mean-

“Are we in the castle?” Ernst said.

Rosch, who had started to walk past him, turned to him and blinked. “Yeah, didn’t you know?”

Ernst shook his head. It proved his captors were working with Alistel’s government, but if so, why weren’t the guards after them? Or was it just a matter of time? “Do you know the way out?” he asked.

“I’ve been here a couple of times. The gate’s this way.”

As they walked, Ernst noticed more and more details. There was one door covered by a metal grating, with two guards in red tabards standing beside it, but the doors on every other side of the room were unguarded. Two tiers of wide balconies with wrought metal railings ran around one side of the room, and he could see a glimpse of a richly-appointed office through a doorway on the first tier. There was some sort of booth in one corner; he couldn’t imagine what it was for.

The door Rosch led him to was a tall, arched gateway, and Ernst was surprised to see rooftops through the opening. Surely a room this large should have been deep in the heart of the castle, where invaders would have to pass through all the defenses to reach it, but instead it seemed to be just inside the front gate.

But no, he realized as he looked at the archway, there _was_ no gate. There weren’t even hinges to hold one, and the stonework was far too thin to hide a portcullis that could be dropped.

“What kind of castle _is_ this?” Ernst said. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but it had slipped out.

Rosch gave him a strange look. “What are you talking about?”

“If someone invaded, this would be impossible to defend! If they got into the city, all you could do would be to barricade this door with furniture, and if anyone got through, there are a dozen directions they could go! If they brought ladders they could even get onto those balconies and enter from there!”

“Why would that matter?” Rosch said. “The Prophet protects us. As long as we have the Prophet Noah’s blessing, nobody can invade. Everybody says so.”

Ernst stared at him, open-mouthed.

This... this was obvious, wasn’t it? It was the entire point of a castle. The guard captain had shown him around since he was young, explaining the defenses to him, pointing out choke points and watch stations and staging areas so he knew where it was safest for him to go if the worst happened. There were spaces for artillery and ballistas, and rooms designed to allow defenders to flank attackers, and the outer walls were as thick as a man was tall. And it was meant to defend the whole city: most of the population could fit inside if they had to.

If a castle couldn’t do that, what was the _point_? Why build it at all, except to prove that you _could_? To show off? To... to _flaunt_ how unconcerned you are with the risk of invasion? The ostentatious _arrogance_ of it-

“Are you okay?” Rosch asked.

“I... yes. I’m fine.” Ernst shook his head to clear it, then walked out after Rosch.

He’d known Alistel was built in a narrow gorge, but it was one thing to read about it and another entirely to see the walls towering up on either side, buildings on top of buildings, lining slopes steep enough that they were almost cliffs. The castle and its wings filled the entire width of the canyon behind him; parts of it must have been carved into the rock.

As he looked up at the narrow slice of visible sky, Ernst realized something else. "It's _snowing_ ," he said, holding a hand out wonderingly. A small white flake disappeared into water as it touched his skin.

Rosch looked surprised. "Huh? Yeah, so?"

"But it's so _warm_." It felt like an early spring day- maybe a little cool, but not uncomfortable. The snow was melting as soon as it hit the ground, and there didn't seem to be so much as a dusting of it anywhere.

"Oh yeah, it's like this in the whole Second Ward," Rosch said. "The steam pipes keep it warm. You have to watch your step in the First, though- the water freezes in the cold spots and the ground gets icy."

So much for that Alistellian diplomat who'd gotten drunk at a party and told the whole court they didn't know what a real winter was like, Ernst thought. "What about the rest of the city? Is it all like this?"

"I wish. It's a lot colder outside the ravine."

Ernst nodded, looking around. The streets were so narrow and cluttered with pipes that for all the crowds, there didn't seem to be _room_ for all the hawkers and street vendors he was used to in Granorg. "What do you think would be the best place to get something to eat?" he said. He was all too aware that the only food he’d seen since waking up was still sitting on the table back in his hospital room.

The other boy frowned, looking thoughtful. "Maybe down in the First Ward? Most of the stuff this close to the castle is for the soldiers."

Farther from the castle was good. "Can you show me the way? I don't know what I'm looking for."

Rosch brightened up. "Sure." He started down the stairs, and Ernst followed. The street was trench-like, and he wondered how it wasn't flowing with water from the melted snow.

"Maybe while we're there, I can pick up some flowers for Mom," Rosch said as they passed under a bridge. "I always get her something when I'm up in the city."

"Don't," Ernst said absently. "They'll definitely be watching your house." He saw Rosch's stricken expression and hastily added, "I apologize, I didn't mean to-"

"No, it's okay," the other boy said, though he still looked dejected. It made him seem smaller. "You're sure?"

"Yes." It was the obvious place for them to run, and Ernst wouldn't be surprised if Rosch's mother had already been captured or killed when they brought Rosch in. But he didn't say that aloud. "Is it always this dark here? Don't people miss the sun?" he asked instead, to change the subject. He thought it was early afternoon, and yet so little light made it down this far that parts of the ground were tinted yellow from the streetlamps.

"It's not so bad," Rosch said. "Most people live outside and come into the city to work, so it's not like we spend all our time in here."

They walked for another minute or two in silence, Ernst looking around curiously. The streets here rose in sharp tiers connected by staircases, so the roof of one building was sometimes at head height of the street above it, and the upper streets turned and twisted to accommodate the buildings that jutted out from the canyon walls. Indefensible as the castle was, he had to admit this city would probably be difficult to invade: while it would be easy to get small groups of soldiers down the sides, as long as they positioned their thaumachines down here in the wider streets, it would be impossible to coordinate, and the locals who knew the terrain would have the advantage. With a large enough force, the city would fall, eventually, but it would be costly. It might be for the best on both sides, he thought, that Granorg’s armies had never gotten any closer to this place than the foothills of Lazvil.

Suddenly, Rosch slowed. Ernst paused too, confused. "What is it?"

Rosch pointed ahead. "See the square there, where Holy Avenue crosses this street? There used to be a statue there. When did they take it down?"

There was, indeed, a stone plinth in the middle of the square. A large pot of flowers had been placed on it, but it didn't do much to disguise that something else had once been there. "What was it for?" Ernst asked.

"Some battle during the revolution. A bunch of our people were retreating from a big army from Granorg, and the Prophet got up and made this speech and some passing Satyros archers heard and they helped us win the battle."

"I never heard about that," Ernst said. His education had only covered the broad strokes of Alistel's history so far; his tutors had been more concerned with his own nation. "I wonder why they took it down?"

“Maybe they’re fixing it up?” Rosch said. “Let’s keep going. I’m starting to get hungry too.”

 

Ernst had been expecting some sort of wall or gate between the Wards, like the carefully-marked districts in Granorg. Instead, the first he realized that they'd crossed the line was when he asked Rosch how far it was.

"Huh? We've been in the First Ward for two blocks now. It starts around Pine Tree Lane."

“But it doesn’t look any different.”

“Sure it does. The ravine’s started to open out, see? And down here most of the thaumatech is attached to the buildings.”

“What? There have been machines attached to every building we’ve passed.” In fact, Ernst had been wondering how much Alistellians must spend on soundproofing, just to escape the clanking and humming coming through the ceiling.

“Well, yeah, I guess, but back there they’re more...” Rosch gestured vaguely. “Built into the walls? It’s attached to the buildings, but it’s more... part of them?” He looked at Ernst hopefully, but seemed to deflate at his look of polite incomprehension. “Look, see that condenser on the roof there? It’s...” He trailed off.

“It’s what?” Ernst prompted.

“They must have just replaced these,” Rosch said, frowning. “I’m sure I was here not that long ago. But I didn’t know they even made condensers that efficient. If it’s some sort of prototype, what’s it doing on a shop?”

Ernst tried not to look lost. He must not have succeeded, because Rosch explained, “They’re what collects mana to heat the buildings. Normally you can feel them pulling in mana if you’re standing this close, especially if it’s an old one. But I can’t feel _anything_ from this one. The pistons are moving, so it must be going, but...”

“Let me check,” Ernst said.

“Oh, uh, sure,” Rosch said, sounding nonplussed. “It feels sort of like-”

“I know what mana flow feels like.” He closed his eyes, _focused_. And yes, there it was- a sensation of movement, like he was standing in a shallow stream. He opened his eyes. “Yes, it’s running.”

Rosch looked surprised. “You’re sure you can feel it?”

“Yes,” Ernst said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “You said most of them are stronger than this?”

The other boy rubbed his chin. “Well, not _stronger_. They just need to suck up more mana to put out the same amount of power. Ha, there’s parts of the warehouse district Mom won’t let me go into because they get really old condensers on purpose to kill the rats. What’re you giving me that look for?”

“And no one is _worried_ about this?”

“Don’t see how it’s any more dangerous than having poison near the food.”

“No, I mean-” _They’d shown him the ruins of the imperial capital, they’d taken him down to the Royal Hall and showed him how if you ripped something’s soul loose from its moorings it crumbled into sand, he’d memorized the lists of those who’d died to keep the continent alive-_ “they’re draining enough mana to kill animals, and no one _cares?_ ” _He’d seen a carved wooden doll half-buried in a drift of sand as they marched him through the ruined palace, and he’d realized that hundreds of years ago there had been children here-_ “Isn’t anyone worried about what will happen if they keep using this much?”

Rosch shrugged. “Why should they? There’s always more mana. Hey, are you okay?”

Suddenly, Ernst understood why his great-grandfather had gone so far to put down Noah’s rebellion. But what could he say? What good would it do?

“It’s nothing,” he said, forcing the list of names from his mind.

“If you say so,” Rosch said, but he didn’t look like he believed it.

“You said there were places to eat in this area?”

“Oh, right! I almost forgot. Yeah, there’re stands and carts and things near the pipe factory over there for when the workers come off shift.” He started to walk again, and Ernst followed.

“I wonder if the sausage roll vendor will be there today?” Rosch said. “Those are my favorite. Have you ever had one?”

“No,” Ernst said. He had had food from street vendors in Granorg once or twice, but only after his uncle had assured him it was safe. He knew not all of them were, and he couldn’t imagine that was any different here. He just had to hope Rosch knew what he was talking about.

“We should get those if they have them! It’s spicy sausage sliced up and baked inside bread. I heard they were invented for miners, ‘cause you can just carry them in a bag and- You’re giving me a weird look again.”

“No, I’m not,” Ernst said, though he didn’t think it was convincing. Rosch seemed far more excited about this than he felt something that simple warranted.

“They’re really good! You’ll see. C’mon, it’s just around this corner.” The other boy tugged his sleeve; Ernst resisted the reflex to pull his arm back.

The factory was a huge, looming hulk of a building, and the clanking of machinery was even louder here than in the rest of the city. But the food sellers’ carts in front of it, at least, looked like the ones at home. “There!” Rosch said, pointing, and started walking toward a cart that looked no different from the others. “You’ve got money, right?”

Money.

Ernst stopped dead.

How had he not even _thought_ about money?

It took Rosch a moment to notice Ernst wasn’t following. “Wait, don’t tell me you don’t? I thought...” The boy trailed off.

“I’m so _stupid_.” A prince never had to carry money; even when he’d snuck out, his uncle had been the one to pay for anything they’d bought. He hadn’t even considered it. Just like a stupid, sheltered, _selfish_ rich boy-

“You’re sure you don’t have anything? It’s not much...”

“Where would I even carry it? It’s not as though I have a coinpurse.” He was an _idiot_.

“I don’t know! You’re wearing such fancy clothes that I thought you must have pockets somewhere.”

“My clothes aren’t fancy,” he said, but looked away so he didn’t have to see Rosch’s expression. They _weren’t_. He’d barely been able to lift his arms above shoulder height in the outfit he’d had to wear to his grandmother’s funeral the year before.

“Well, we need to do _something_. They gave me breakfast back at the hospital, but I haven’t eaten since then. Look, I know you said we shouldn’t go back to my mom’s house, but what about my granddad? He lives in the city too, and he might know what to do.”

It was a terrible idea. Ernst nodded.

As they left the square in front of the factory, something caught his eye and he turned to look. In a corner, there was a rickshaw half-full of apples, somehow perfect despite the season, a folding umbrella over it to keep off the snow. Standing beside it was a Satyros; as he watched, a soot-smudged worker gave the Beastkind a coin, and was given an apple in return. Odd- he’d thought Alistel was on bad terms with the Beastkind.

Then he saw something else.

He turned to face forward again.

“Rosch,” he said, and was surprised at how steady his voice stayed, “don’t turn around, but those soldiers from the hospital are following us.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Shh. Keep walking. They might not have realized that I noticed them yet.”

“Shouldn’t we run?” said Rosch.

“No. If we both run the same direction on a straightaway, they’ll catch us easily. We’re better off getting to a cross street, then running opposite directions. We might be able to lose them while they can’t see us.” He felt distant, detached, as if this was happening to someone else.

“Where should we meet up if we do that?” Rosch asked nervously.

 _We shouldn’t. If either of us gets caught, they could force the location out of him and get both of us_. “How about around the left side of the factory from the entrance? It’s big enough I should be able to find my way back there. But we’ll need to take our time coming back to make sure we’ve lost them.”

“So should we run at that street up ahead?”

“No. If we go past it, they’ll be sure we don’t know they’re there, and they’ll let their guard down. We run at the next one.” Ernst realized that, strangely, he was feeling confident. He might still be lost in a foreign country with no idea how he’d got there, but he’d been dodging his guard detail just to have time alone since he was little. Evading a tail was one thing he _knew_ he knew how to do. And these two didn’t even have the advantage of knowing how he thought.

They walked the next block in silence. Rosch’s eyes darted to the sides, but to Ernst’s relief, he didn’t look over his shoulder. “Ready?” Rosch whispered as they neared the cross street.

Ernst nodded. “I’ll go right, you go left.”

Rosch nodded back.

They stepped out into the intersection, turned, and bolted.

Ernst heard a shout from behind him. He wasn’t sure exactly how much of a lead he had, but he wasn’t going to waste it. There was a crash and another yell behind him in the distance as he ducked into an alleyway, scrambled up a pile of old boxes, and pulled himself up over the edge of a roof. There was another one of those condensers on top of the building, along with some other machines he couldn’t name; he huddled down in a gap between them that he hoped would be invisible from ground level and waited.

He heard running footsteps in the alley below, and didn’t let himself breathe until they faded.

He’d have to wait up here for at least another ten minutes; he couldn’t let them spot him if they happened to circle around. He shifted slightly, trying to find a position where he could see the street on one side while staying out of sight. He wished he had gloves- those parts of the roof that weren’t numbingly cold with snowmelt were painfully hot from the machines. The mana flow into the condenser felt like a faint breeze against his mind.

He finally managed to find a spot where he could peek out between two pipes and into the street opposite the one he’d come from. It’d be the safer direction to go, once he decided to come down. It was funny, he thought as he watched the foot traffic below, that despite how different this city looked from home, the people looked so similar. Maybe the fashions were a little different, and they were bundled up more against the cold, but if you’d dropped most of the passersby into Granorg, they wouldn’t have looked out of place. Ernst wondered if he did.

A glint of light on metal caught his eye and he froze, his heartbeat thudding loud in his ears. It was the short soldier, and though he didn’t seem to have noticed Ernst, he was moving in his direction. Ernst stayed still; it was tempting to run, but all that would do would be to _ensure_ the man noticed him.

Then, from around a corner, he heard a woman’s urgent shout, “ _Marc!_ ”

A figure in a brown cloak ran out of a cross-street to the left, and Ernst realized with horror that it was Rosch.

He saw the boy start running down the street, the black-haired woman in pursuit behind him. He saw the moment Rosch spotted the man and veered off toward the alley Ernst had climbed onto the roof from. He saw the man pull out a bottle, whisper a word, and hurl it forward with all his strength to crack on the cobblestones near Rosch’s feet. And he saw Rosch collapse bonelessly amid a cloud of white fog, the sleep spell strong enough that Ernst could feel it from where he hid.

Surely someone else would intervene? Surely this couldn’t happen in broad daylight in the middle of a city street without being noticed? But it wasn’t as though Rosch had screamed, and the nearest other pedestrians were all headed away. No one was looking.

There was nobody but him.

The woman trotted over and squatted down beside the sleeping boy, then said something to the man, but Ernst couldn’t hear the words over the hum of the machinery.

The man was closer to his hiding spot; Ernst barely caught, “...wonder if he already knows that invisi...”

The woman shook her head, and said something inaudible. She hoisted Rosch over her shoulder with no apparent effort, and stood up.

“...don’t have much time,” he heard the man say. “...alley over there’s... dead end... should be...”

The woman nodded, and the two of them walked into a dingy alley across the street, still carrying Rosch, and disappeared out of sight around the corner.

Ernst’s heart was in his throat. He couldn’t just stand by, could he? He didn’t know what they wanted with Rosch, but nothing that started with knocking him out and carrying him into a dark alley could be good. But it could be a trap, and even if it wasn’t, there were two of them and they were trained soldiers, and there was nothing to stop them from putting him to sleep the same way they had Rosch.

But he couldn’t just _leave_ him. It was Ernst’s fault they’d ended up out here. For that matter, it was most likely because of him that Rosch had been involved in any of this. He had a responsibility. And he wasn’t completely defenseless; as much as the thought of using it to hurt someone made him feel ill, he had magic. But the kidnappers knew that, too- there was no doubt they would have figured out how he set the fire when he escaped.

He certainly couldn’t go in through the mouth of the alley. If he could get up onto the rooftops on the other side of the street, he might be able to see in without being spotted, but anything he did would risk showing himself. Maybe that would be a good thing, though? Ernst was the bigger prize of the two of them, so surely at least one of the soldiers would try to chase him, and if he could evade them again, it would draw them off Rosch...

He needed to see for sure, he thought. He’d couldn’t plan without seeing the situation first. He’d climb down, cross the street, climb back up, see what was happening, and make his decision about what to do then. Yes. Sensible and logical. He inched out from the tangle of machines before he could reconsider. He wasn’t sure the boxes would hold his weight a second time, so instead, he climbed over the edge of the roof and then let go, dropping to the alley below.

He landed more heavily than he meant to, and winced at the impact. At least he didn’t have to worry about the noise; the sound of the machines would cover it up.

Ernst peered out of the alley. There was a heavy bend of pipe coming out of the ground near one building across the way that looked like an excellent foothold, but there was a window above it; if he tried to climb up there, anyone in the building would be able to see him easily. The drainpipe in another alley would be out of sight, but he wasn’t sure if it would hold his weight...

He saw movement in the alley the soldiers had disappeared into, and ducked down reflexively, huddling behind a jumble of pipes. The short man emerged, and Ernst’s heart nearly stopped when he looked straight at the alleyway Ernst was hiding in. But then the man’s eyes slid off him, looking up and down the street.

“We’re clear,” the soldier said over his shoulder.

The woman came out after him, empty-handed now, and glanced around despite the man’s assurances. Then she nodded, and from the alley behind her another figure appeared. Ernst started, had a brief moment of panic that the movement would give him away, and then relaxed when none of them looked in his direction.

The newcomer was one of the biggest men Ernst had ever seen, tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular. He dwarfed the woman, who was far from short herself. His long hair was so blond as to be nearly white, and the left sleeve of his shirt was tied off at the elbow. A missing arm?

“He was going to head back to the factory,” the big man said. Another strong Alistellian accent- he must be a native of the city. “But he’s on the lookout for you two, so he won’t show if he spots you. You might catch him there, but I doubt it.”

“But we can’t just leave him alone out here in the city!” said the short man. “Anything could happen!”

“So how do you say we find him, Marc?” the woman snapped. “We’ve lost him. He could be halfway across the Ward by now. Sheesh, no wonder he ended up in Specint.”

“I still think we should try the meeting place,” the short man said. “If Raynie and I hide out of sight, you could keep watch in the street and signal us if you see him.”

The man with one arm rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. “That might work. It’s not like he’s seen me, after all.”

“Then let’s get over there quick, so we can get out of sight before he gets there,” the woman said decisively.

Ernst counted to one hundred after they left before he peeked around the corner of the building and down the street. There was no sign of the three of them. Cautiously, he crossed the street, and into the alley where they had carried Rosch earlier.

There wasn’t a body. There weren’t even any traces of blood, and he checked three times, apprehensively conjuring a handful of fire to light the dark corners. The alley turned a sharp corner, then dead-ended against the back of another building, a three-story wall of solid gray metal broken only by a few grubby, porthole-like windows far above the ground. There were doors in from two of the buildings it ran between, but both had heaps of rubbish in front of them, dusted with snow. He poked at them experimentally with his boot, but of course, there was nothing underneath.

Where could Rosch have gone? And where could that man have come from?

Even if Rosch was still alive, trying to get into one of the buildings in case he was inside one of them somehow would be suicidal. Right now, Ernst was one child in an unfamiliar country, and he couldn’t afford to attract attention that might risk his life. Maybe later, if he got home or found allies, he could have this entire neighborhood turned upside-down, but for now...

Ernst swallowed against the lump in his throat, apologizing silently, as though it would do any good. Then he walked back to the street, leaving the alley behind.

He started walking in the direction opposite the way the three people had gone. As close as he had been, the short one could easily have knocked him out with the same sleeping spell they used on Rosch, so they probably hadn’t known he was there. That meant the conversation wasn’t staged for his benefit. In that case, he’d need to avoid the area around that factory as much as possible- even if it might be possible the other boy was still alive and somehow got free, Ernst wasn’t going to walk alone into a trap on that chance.

He needed help.

His father must have spies somewhere in the city. Finding them would probably be his best chance to get home; even if he found a traveller or merchant headed to Granorg, it wasn’t as if he had anything to offer in exchange for passage. But the entire point of a spy was not to be found, and it wasn’t as if his father had told him anything about their intelligence network. He’d have to find them when Alistel couldn’t, and his only advantage was that someone from Granorg might recognize him. And if the soldiers picked up his trail again-

Ernst stopped that thought. He couldn’t think about any of this, or the overwhelming enormity of what he had to do would crush him.

He heard the sound of a crowd to the right, and turned that way, down a flight of stairs and around a corner. He didn’t know how long he had before they gave up on waiting for him, so now might be his only chance to ask around for information. The smell of cooking meat reached him as he followed the sound, and his stomach growled. Ernst tried to ignore it. He didn’t have time to waste worrying about food yet.

He found himself in some sort of market square, and picked a nearby cart at random- a man selling jars of what looked like honey.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said. “Do you know where I might get news of Granorg?”

The man eyed him, and Ernst wondered if he might have laid it on too thick. Then the stallkeeper pointed off to the right. “Rosalinde’s stall,” he said. “She’s the one with the green canopy. Sells cloth. Gets cotton down in Granorg. Likes to gossip.”

“Thank you,” Ernst said, nodding to the man.

He walked off in the direction the man had pointed, making sure to keep his cloak pulled close around him.

There was already a small group of people gathered in front of the stall when he found it. Ernst slipped in as best he could, trying to get close enough to hear without bumping into anyone.

“He’d been making a fuss for a while now, y’know?” the shopkeeper was saying. She was a narrow-faced woman in a turban, clearly enjoying herself. “The queen’s been trying to get this bridge built since she was crowned, and he’s had a bee in his bonnet about it ‘cause right now he’s got the only bridge over that river and he’s been making a mint. And _he_ says she’s doing it to punish him because back in the day he was always arguing with her brother. And _she_ says the reason her brother hated him is ‘cause he’s the biggest bastard in Granorg, except she wouldn’t say it like that because she’s a proper lady.”

Ernst frowned. Queen?

“So the queen finally gets all the other lords and ladies to agree to it, when he starts shouting right in the middle of the court about how they’re all trying to ruin him. He got so rowdy the guards had to drag him out! An actual lord! Hold on just a moment, love.” A man had come forward, and apparently customers took precedent over gossip. A few of her audience drifted off while she had a low, heated exchange with the man, then a bag of coins and a bolt of blue cloth changed hands. “Anyway,” she continued as he left, tucking the money away, “he rode off right home to his mansion and started putting out all these letters about how the queen was a tyrant. But nobody cared, and that made him _really_ mad. So next letter he sends, he says he’s rebelling and making his own kingdom, and then next thing you know he’s sent some soldiers off to attack where they’re building the other bridge!”

“What happened?” Ernst asked.

Everyone turned to look at him. He felt his face heat up; he hadn’t meant to attract attention.

“Wow, kid, you’ve got an accent that could cut glass,” the shopkeeper said, grinning. “Sounds like it happened in your backyard. You sure you shouldn’t be the one telling me?”

“What happened?” Ernst repeated, trying to keep his temper in check.

“Oh, it got put down,” she said. “None of his neighbors liked him much because of the bridge thing, and the queen’s got plenty of soldiers herself. They hadn’t set an execution date yet when I left, but I’m sure it’s coming. High treason and all.”

Ernst nodded, trying to think of a way he could ask what he actually wanted to know without sounding suspicious.

As if he hadn’t already blown that the instant he opened his mouth.

“Look, kid, where are your parents? Do you need help finding them?”

“I’m on an errand,” he said. It was the first thing that came to mind.

“And I’m the king of Cygnus. You’re, what, eight or nine? Kids your age shouldn’t be running around a foreign city by themselves.”

“I’m ten,” he said, failing to keep the scowl off his face.

“And you think that makes you all grown up, I bet. Get back to the inn, kiddo. Your parents are probably worried sick.”

Ernst thought frantically. What did the adults back home gossip about? He couldn’t believe he was wishing he’d paid _more_ attention to boring court chitchat.

“Is there any news about the queen’s marriage?” he hazarded. That should be safe enough- the courtiers were always talking about who was courting whom and which couples were fighting.

“Aww, someone’s got a crush!” she said. “Trying to scope out the competition, huh? Can’t blame you, though. Everyone says she’s pretty.”

Ernst felt his face go from pink to red. “If you don’t know anything, I’ll be on my way,” he said.

“Sorry, kid. Now get on back to your mom.”

He nodded stiffly and left.

_Adults._

Why were they always like this?

He picked a direction at random and walked that way. No point making things any easier for anyone tracking him by staying in the same area too long.

It didn’t make any sense. This might be a foreign country, but surely you couldn’t just make up a queen who didn’t exist and have it go unquestioned. So somehow, his father must have remarried since Ernst was taken, but that was nearly as ridiculous in itself. There had been women jockeying for the position ever since Ernst’s mother had died, of course, but his father hadn’t seemed interested in any of the current crop. And surely a marriage alliance would be even less of a priority with the crown prince kidnapped.

And yet, the news was a minor lord’s rebellion, not a war or a kidnapping or a marriage.

It didn’t make any _sense_.

Even if they’d been keeping him captive for a while, he couldn’t have lost that much time- his body might still feel subtly wrong, but he didn’t think he was any taller than he remembered.

Could he?

Trying not to think too much about what he was doing, Ernst trotted over to a man walking the other way down the street, hood up.

“Sir, could you spare a moment?”

The man gave him an odd look. “What?”

“Could you please tell me what year it is by Alistel’s calendar? I’ve forgotten the conversion.” Ernst gave him his most polite smile.

“Seventy-one years free.”

Ernst frowned. “What? I thought it was fifty-eight.”

“Huh? Nah, kid, how’d you get that? It’s from the date of the Prophet’s revelation. The first day of spring, 303 Granorg calendar. Spring’s not for another month, so it’s 71 here and 375 over there.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” Ernst said, trying to keep a smile fixed on his face.

He counted on his fingers as he walked away, cold panic filling his head.

Fourteen years. He recounted again, twice, just to be sure.

He walked. He took random turns as he went, never running. Running would attract attention.

The man had no reason to lie to him.

He pulled the cloak closer around himself. Rosch had been right- it was colder in this part of the city.

Fourteen years.

He counted again and again against everything he could remember the year for, in case his memory of the number was wrong. He’d been born in 351... The tricentennial of the palace’s completion had been in 359... His mother had died in 358...

No matter how he counted, it always came out to the same, impossible number.

He wasn’t sure how long he wandered.

He found himself at a dead end. The climb down to the street below was easier going than the castle walls back home, but the way the pipes shifted when he put his weight on them had him imagining his handholds breaking and dropping him to the ground below the whole way down.

No one gave him so much as a glance when he walked out of the alley.

He kept expecting to turn a corner and see green. Back home, there were parks throughout the city- just a few trees, a patch of grass, and a bench, usually, but _something_. Here the only green to break up the dark, dripping walls of metal was the occasional pot of flowers, and there were fewer of them here than there had been near the castle.

Perhaps it was for the best, though. If he’d found somewhere to stop, he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to get back up again.

His eyes pricked with tears of frustration.

Even if he got home, no one would believe who he was. Another him was out there somewhere- maybe even king by now. Why would anyone believe a child who claimed to be him from the past?

Or what if he wasn’t? What if he’d been plucked out of history, and he’d ceased to exist for the last fourteen years?

He wanted to run, to hide, to _go home_.

He walked instead.

The city smelled of iron and mildewed wood.

After a while, his feet began to ache.

Were they still following him? Did it matter?

He was hungry and thirsty and feeling sick, and he’d have to sleep eventually. He had no illusions that he could survive on the streets of an unfamiliar city without aid. And asking strangers for help would lead his captors right back to him, if it didn’t get him into something even worse.

It had started snowing again, harder. The flakes melted where they landed, and he shivered under his sodden cloak.

He’d freeze if he stayed out here overnight.

They couldn’t have taken him to hold him for ransom, or for leverage over his family. No one would believe them or care, this far in the future. They could want information, but there was little he knew that wouldn’t be worthless after this long and there weren’t far easier ways to learn. Were they trying to change history, brainwashing him and sending him back or altering the succession with his disappearance?

If they could pull someone out of the past, why choose _him?_

Somehow, in all his random turnings, he’d ended up back at the plaza with the missing statue. Ernst walked over to the dais and looked at it more closely. The stones in the center were a different color, yes, but they were still weathered, and up close he could see green streaks on them from water running off the bronze bands on the flower pot. Whatever had been there had been gone for a long time.

What was waiting for him if he got away?

He had no way to get back. Either he died or he started a new life, somehow. Either way, everything he’d ever had was gone.

The sun was getting low in the sky, though he wondered if that even mattered to people who lived in a city with this many street lamps.

Those soldiers could have killed him easily if they’d wanted him dead.

What did he have to lose, in the end?

 

There it was. A double door, dark wood, with a small yellow thaumlight over it. He hadn't paid much attention when he made his escape, but if he was wrong... well, it was fourteen years too late for wasted time to matter much. He took a few slow breaths, trying to calm his nerves, then pushed open the door.

He was met by a tableau of shocked faces.

All four of them were there in front of the desk- the doctor, the black-haired woman, the short man, and the man with one arm- and all of them were staring at him, mouths open. He fought the urge to shrink back, but he knew he was shaking, and he hated himself for it.

The doctor recovered first. "Rosch, other room," she snapped, pointing down the hall. "Raynie, Marco, end of the hall."

"What? Why?" asked the short man.

"Because he has enough to be afraid of already. Now _go!_ "

The other three did as she asked, though they glanced back over their shoulders at Ernst. The large man gave him a particularly lingering look before closing the door of one of the hospital rooms behind him; Ernst tried to pretend he didn’t notice. 

That left him alone with the doctor. She sat down in the chair beside the desk. "Did anyone out in the city try to hurt you?" she asked. Her voice was gentle; he could tell she was trying to put him at ease.

He was done letting them try to manipulate him. "What did you do to me?" he demanded. He tried to keep the tears out of his voice, and summoned up every scrap of royal authority he could manage. "And don't lie. I asked people what year it was. You can't just tell me I hit my head."

"I'm sorry, Your Highness,” she said, in that same condescendingly gentle tone. “We were trying not to make this any harder on you than it had to be."

"You didn't answer my question," he said. He was still trembling, and though the two soldiers were out of earshot, he could feel their eyes on him from the end of the hall.

"I don't think you'll believe me. Do you still want to hear it?" she said.

"Yes." He was fourteen years out of place in time- was there any explanation that was believable?

"The four of you in this ward were caught in the effect when a magical relic was damaged," she said. He could tell she was choosing her words carefully. "All four of you... reverted to an earlier age, for a time. You were the last one the effect hit. If the pattern holds, you'll go back to normal in a few hours, but I wanted to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn't get hurt. Especially since we five are the only people in Alistel who know who you are."

"I don't believe you," Ernst said. It was ridiculous. Even if he did visit Alistel in some diplomatic function, it would never be without a retinue. And a crown prince certainly couldn't travel in secret.

"You saw Rosch just now," she said mildly.

"No, I didn’t," he said, glaring at her. “I saw those two soldiers and a big man with one arm.” The man’s hair might have been the same color as Rosch’s, but that didn’t mean anything. And maybe he’d come out of the alley that Rosch had disappeared in, but all that meant was that there had been a door he hadn’t noticed.

“And don't try to tell me something only he would know,” Ernst added. “You could have forced it out of him." Or the other boy could have been working with them all along- those soldiers certainly hadn't seemed to have had any difficulty tailing them.

"I did say you wouldn't believe me," she said. "And the only way I know to prove it to you is to wait. Unless you can think of a way?"

He hesitated, then shook his head.

"I don't need you to believe me," the doctor said. He forced himself to meet her gaze. "I’d just like you to accept our hospitality for the next few hours. If you’d prefer, I'll pay to put you up in an inn, though you'll have to walk back to the First Ward and I can't guarantee anywhere will still have rooms this late."

His feet twinged at just the thought. “It wouldn’t matter,” he said. “You’d just send those soldiers to watch me again.”

“So you’d prefer to stay here?” she asked.

He nodded, reluctantly.

“Have you eaten?” she said. “You’ve been gone for almost six hours. Even if you found something in the city, you must be famished.”

He glared at her, not answering.

“Of course you haven’t,” she said half to herself, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know why I expected differently. Will you eat if one of us has some first to prove it’s safe?”

“You’re a healer,” he said. “And anyone could take an antidote.”

“What if we took you to the canteen? Most of the castle eats there.”

He shook his head. It would be easy for them to slip something into his serving.

She sighed. “If I give you money, will you go out and buy something you’ll touch?”

“You’ll still make those soldiers go after me,” he said.

“I’m worried about you,” she said simply. “But I’ll tell them not to get near your food. Can you live with that?”

He still didn’t like it, but it was probably the best he was going to get. He nodded.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll go talk to them now, and you can wait here. Is that fine with you?”

He nodded again. She was talking down to him to try to keep him calm, but saying that would just drag this out further.

She stood up and left, and he wanted desperately to sit down in the chair she’d vacated and rest his aching feet. Instead, he stood straight and still, hands at his sides as he waited. He couldn’t hear the conversation from the end of the hall, but it went on considerably longer than it would have if their only instructions were to guard him.

The three of them came back, eventually. The black-haired woman smiled at him as she got near; he didn’t smile back.

The doctor pulled a purse out of a pocket on her dress and counted out five silver coins. He held out his hand obediently and she dropped them into his palm. “That should be enough,” she said. “Do you need directions to anywhere nearby?”

“No,” he lied.

“All right. Come back if you need anything.” She rounded the desk, sat down, took a piece of paper out of a drawer, and began to write. It was a clear dismissal.

He gave her a stiff, shallow bow- less than he gave his tutors, but it wasn’t as if any of these people would know enough about court etiquette to recognize the insult- turned on his heel, and stalked out the double doors. The two soldiers fell smoothly into step behind him as he left.

The hallways were even emptier than they had been when he’d made his escape, and their footsteps echoed softly in the wide, high-ceilinged corridors, accompanied by the occasional gurgle and hiss from the pipes on the walls. He wondered if there was anywhere in this whole city where you could escape from that sound. He longed for his hiding places back home: the back room of the library, the furniture storage room on the second floor of the north wing, the guest room separate from all the others that hadn’t been used in fifty years. Places he could sneak an hour or two of solitude, as long as he was willing to face his father’s anger when he returned. It seemed like such a small price to pay for respite, right now.

“Sorry I lied to you earlier,” said the woman. He nearly jumped, but managed to hide it. He hoped. “Sonja thought it’d be easier than trying to explain. I guess we should have realized that just ‘cause Rosch bought it didn’t mean you would. We didn’t mean to scare you.”

He didn’t say anything.

“We only followed you because Sonja was worried that you and Rosch might get hurt, since you didn’t know your way around the city,” she said. “We weren’t going to drag you back or anything.”

“Well, Rosch was getting close to going back to normal, too,” added the man. “It would have been bad if that had happened in public. He’s pretty recognizable, after all. It could have started all sorts of rumors.”

They reached the gate into the castle antechamber, and the soldiers moved up to stand on either side of Ernst like bodyguards. He was uncomfortably aware of how trapped he was, but at least they’d gone silent. His feet twinged with every step; he was probably going to have blisters.

The sun was still up, but the square outside the castle was already tinged faintly yellow by the streetlights. How could anyone live here and not spend all day desperate for _light_?

He hesitated at the bottom of the square, trying to remember if he’d seen anything that looked like it sold food when he’d been in this part of the city before.

“Most of the eateries are down the road to the right,” said the man helpfully.

Ernst considered going left just to spite them, but the stabbing pain in his feet made him reconsider. Best to get this over with as fast as possible. He turned right, the street curving toward the side of the ravine. The buildings on the right were built into the slope; on the left, doors and stalls were built into the top stories of buildings on the tier below. He ducked his head to hide his face as they passed a group of men and women in red tabards talking and laughing, carrying helmets with pointed visors under their arms.

As if it mattered whether they saw him. Even if he’d been back home, no one would remember what the prince had looked like fourteen years before.

He could smell roasting meat up ahead, and it was making his mouth water.

There were more soldiers here, most still in red, but a handful in blue or yellow. Rosch had been right about the clientele in this part of town, it seemed, even if his information was fourteen years out of dat-

No. _No_. He couldn’t just accept that Rosch had been the same as him. That was what they wanted him to think.

The soldiers behind him seemed to misinterpret his pause. “That kabob shop over there is good,” the short man said, pointing ahead to a store window the scent of meat and spices seemed to be coming from. It really did smell delicious.

Ernst pointedly walked toward the other side of the street. He heard the woman sigh behind him.

 

Ernst finished the sausage roll much faster than he’d meant to. He’d panicked when he got to the counter and asked for the only thing on the stall’s list that he recognized; he suspected the owner might have overcharged him, hearing his accent.

Rosch had been right, though. It tasted better than it had any right to.

Unfortunately, all it seemed to have done was remind him how hungry he was. At some point during the afternoon, the hunger had gone from a sharp pain to a dull gnawing sensation that he could forget until something brought it to mind, but now the pangs were back. At least eating had given him an excuse to sit down.

The two soldiers were watching him. Ernst had been trying to ignore them.

“You done?” said the woman, from where she was lounging against the railing farther down the stairs from where he sat. “I think I’ve got some cash if you want more food.”

“Yes,” he said shortly. He’d rather be hungry than have these two think he owed them.

“Do you need some time to heal your feet?” the short man said.

Ernst looked up sharply, then flushed. “I’m fine,” he said. The two soldiers looked at each other over his head, and he felt himself redden even further.

It hadn’t even occurred to him to try it. He had the aptitude, but he was almost entirely unpracticed at healing magic, and he wasn’t about to show the two of them that by sitting here for fifteen minutes trying to keep his concentration while they stared at him. Of course, the fact that he had the talent hadn’t been public knowledge before, but if he asked them how they knew they’d lie to him again. There was no point talking to them at all, really.

...That is, other than the fact that the longer he got them to talk, the longer he could stay off his feet before he had to walk back.

“Earlier...” Ernst said.

The woman looked at him quizzically. “Hmm?”

"You knew who I was and you still touched me," he said. "Why?" It wasn’t the question he’d meant to ask, but it would do.

The two guards glanced at each other again. They seemed to do that a lot.

"Raynie wouldn't have done it if she'd known it would upset you," said the man. "Right, Raynie?"

The woman nodded. "Yeah. I didn't mean to scare you."

Ernst stared at the ground. They used a different kind of stone for the streets here than they did in Granorg. "Anyone but another member of the royal family who touched me would be lucky if all they lost was their job," he said.

"I'm... sorry. I didn't know."

He didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure what answer he’d expected.

"No, I mean, really, I should have realized," she said. "I got hit with the kid thing before you and Rosch did, and I was so scared I wouldn't leave the room. Marco had to eat some of everything they gave me before I'd believe it wasn't drugged. Though, ha, I guess you've got me beat there."

"I was pretty suspicious when it happened to me, too," said the man. "I think the only one of us who wasn't afraid was Rosch, and he's from around here. Raynie was so scared she didn't even want to see you."

“Can you blame me, Marc? I was living on the street when I was ten! ‘course I panicked when I woke up somewhere weird surrounded by a bunch of strangers. I thought I’d be able to fight you off if I had to, but I sure wasn’t going to get near the guy two feet taller than me and carrying a sword.”

“He wasn’t _that_ much taller than you. Maybe a foot and a half, less if you stood up straight.”

“That’s not the point, Marc. Point is, I _get_ it. Sorry, St- Ernst. I’ve seen you jump enough times when somebody you don’t know bumps into you that I should’ve known better.”

"Stop acting like you know me," Ernst whispered.

"What was that?" asked the woman.

"I said, _stop acting like you know me!_ " He hated the way his voice broke, and he hated the traitorous tears in his eyes, and he hated this dark, claustrophobic, damp hellhole of a city.

The two soldiers looked as though he'd slapped them.

"You don't have to lie to me," he said. "I'm not going to run away again. I don't know what you people are planning, but there's nowhere else for me to go, and even if there was they wouldn't believe me." He wiped his eyes with his sleeve- incredibly uncouth, but it wasn't as if he had a handkerchief. He felt like an idiot.

The woman took a deep breath, then said, "You've got a birthmark on the inside of your elbow, and a scar on the bottom of your right foot from when you fell trying to climb a tree on the castle grounds."

"The castle always cooks roasted pheasant with wine and mushrooms on your birthday," the man said.

"Your family keeps these big black horses with sort of curly coats, and- Marc, do you think that horse was more than fourteen years old? Your favorite is this mare named Marigold, and everyone said it was a stupid name because marigolds don't come in black."

Ernst closed his eyes to hold back the tears. "I don't believe you," he said, half-whispering, as if that would help.

"Please," said the man, "We're not lying. You're- well, you're going to be-"

"Stop it, Marc," said the woman. "We're not helping." She crouched down next to Ernst and said, "Sorry. Want to go back to Sonja's office so you don't have to see us?"

Ernst nodded sharply, not trusting his voice, and forced himself to his feet.

The walk back was awkward and blissfully silent, the two soldiers trailing behind him. Ernst wished he had the courage to run. The sun was setting, but the city was barely any darker, the thaumlights lighting the streets a dull yellow. No one looked at him as he passed into the castle. He could go almost anywhere, he thought- could find out the advances in Alistel's technology, their military movements, their secrets from the last fourteen years. He could be figuring out how they'd really brought him here. And instead he was trudging the increasingly-familiar hallways back to the ward.

The doctor was behind the desk again, saying something to the man with one arm. They both stopped talking when Ernst walked in. He ignored them, heading for the chair beside the desk, where he sat down with his feet on the seat, hugging his knees. He'd been chastised for doing that in the past, but it didn't matter anymore. The two soldiers filed past him down the hallway; he didn't look at them. He heard a door open and shut. They must have gone into one of the rooms to talk.

"I'll, ah, finish talking to you later, Sonja," said the big man, though his eyes were on Ernst. He left too, shutting the door of another room behind him.

Ernst sat silent, forehead resting against his knees. The scratching of the doctor's pencil and the faint hum and gurgle of the pipes were the only sounds. "Do you need to talk?" she said after a while.

"What happened to my family?" he said, not looking at her. That way, with the hood up, she wouldn’t be able to see much of his face.

"Your sister Eruca is on the throne," Sonja said.

He nodded. He should have felt something more, but in his mind, Eruca was four years old. Who knew what she would grow up to be?

"Your father remarried when you were in your teens, and died when you were eighteen. His new wife ruled for a few years, before Eruca overthrew and banished her."

If he was still alive in the morning, he'd find someone in the city and ask them to confirm that. "And Uncle Heinrich?" he said.

She hesitated. "He... sacrificed himself."

"So you know," he said. One of the royal family's deepest secrets, and this doctor from Alistel knew. It didn't prove anything- anything could have happened in the last fourteen years. But... "You said before that you could prove your story by waiting," he said, eventually.

"Everyone who's gotten younger has done so for about the same amount of time," she said, nodding.

"How long?" he said.

"Another hour or so. We don't know exactly how long before we found you it started."

He could leave. He could stand up and run out the door, and even if there was some security system, she might not have time to activate it. He could find an alleyway with a broken thaumlight and hide there- who'd notice another dark shape near the wall in a city like this?

He didn't.

"Did you drug me before I woke up?" he said. "Is that why I feel like my skin's on wrong? Are you waiting for whatever you gave me to kick in, and you only sent two people after me when I ran because you knew it was just a matter of time?"

"I told you the truth, Ernst."

"No you didn't." He curled up tighter, resting his head on his knees. "If it was true, none of you would treat me like this."

"Like what?"

"Like an ordinary person." The tears were coming back. He hated it.

"Ernst-"

"You forgot my title again," he said. "You haven't used it since I got back."

She sighed. "Your Highness-"

"You're all acting friendly and familiar because you think it'll make me trust you," he said. "But Father would punish anyone who treated me like that. For disrespecting royal authority."

"Your Highness, King Victor died six years ago."

"So?" He wanted badly to lift his head enough to wipe his eyes, but she was watching. "I'm the crown prince. It wouldn't stop."

"A lot has changed in the last fourteen years, Your Highness." She was trying to be gentle, he knew. It didn't help.

"They _touched_ me," he said. "A maid did that once, and she was blacklisted from ever working in domestic service again."

"I'm sorry, Ernst." He wasn't sure if it was apology or pity.

"If you were telling the truth there'd be guards and servants, and I'd be in an inn or a camp outside the city," he said. "They wouldn't- they wouldn't want people seeing me like this." _He_ didn't want people seeing him like this. He hated knowing that she could hear his voice quaver.

"Would you like to be alone for a while?"

He raised his head just enough to nod.

"I need to stay here, but you can have one of the rooms. I'll give you both keys so you'll know I can't barge in."

It was an empty gesture. There'd be a master key somewhere. Someone had to clean the place.

"I assume you want a room near the door, not the one you were in before?" she asked.

He nodded again.

There was the sound of jingling metal. He wiped his face on the sleeve of his robe and stood up. "Room two," the doctor said, sliding two keys across the desk to him. He tried not to look at her, as if that would stop her from seeing how red his face was.

Room two was the first door on the left side of the hallway, just beside the chair he'd been sitting in. He locked the door behind him, futile as it was. The cloak he dropped on the table, and he pulled his boots off despite the voice of warning that said it would be easier to flee quickly if he had them on. He sat down on the edge of the bed, ignoring the part of him that wanted to lie down and scream into the pillow.

That conversation with the soldiers had been miserable, but at least it had given him one good idea. He had solitude, and relative quiet, and time, now, and it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do. He closed his eyes, carefully reaching for his magic.

Fire was _easy_. Too easy, really. It didn’t take much to light a candle or catch a sheet of paper. Something hot enough to boil water or cook meat would be another story, but the only time he’d had to do that was during magic lessons. A tiny spark of healing magic, on the other hand, would just earth itself with no discernible effect on whatever he was trying to heal, as though he’d tried to light a heavy log with a candle flame. He knew it got easier with practice- his mother used to wave away his skinned knees and bruises like they were nothing- but he’d never had much reason to try. There had always been doctors and healers around whenever he’d gotten himself hurt before this.

He realized he was thirsty. Oh well- he would have had even less idea where to get something safe to drink than he’d had of where to get food.

A thudding headache. The rushing sound of water in the pipes. That unplaceable sense that something was _off_ that he’d been feeling since he woke up. The pain in his feet- it seemed unfair that that would distract him from the process of trying to fix it.

He built the spell up, slowly, carefully, not letting it get away from him. At least while he was focused on this, he didn’t have to think about anything else.

When he thought he had it aimed in the right direction, he let it go, and the magic sank greedily into his injured feet. The pain faded all at once in a wave of warmth, and he nearly sagged in relief. Still hungry, thirsty, exhausted, and miserable, but at least one problem was gone.

Unfortunately, that left him with nothing to do but think.

 

The doctor looked up when Ernst opened the door, then stood up in alarm when she saw him. "Are you all right? Did something happen?” she said.

"I died, didn't I?"

She froze. It was all the confirmation he needed.

"You said Father's new wife took the throne after he died, but she couldn't have, if I was eighteen," he said. "I was next in line. I wouldn't even need a regent. If it was her, then Eruca, I must not have been in the succession anymore." He was shaking again, and he didn't want to think about how bad his face must look. "I'm the next sacrifice, aren't I?"

He couldn’t see her expression through the tears he was trying to blink back, but he saw her come closer and kneel in front of him. Trying to not loom over him, so she didn’t scare him. He could almost laugh.

"I'm so sorry, Ernst," she said. "You're right."

 

\--------

 

Half an hour later, Sonja heard a door open. She was standing up before she even thought about it, rounding the desk toward the hall.

Stocke looked exhausted. He hadn't even changed out of the clothes he'd been sleeping in last night when the magic's effect had hit him, which was surprising for him- he was usually intractable about not leaving his hospital room unless he at least had a weapon on him. There were the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes, but he didn't seem to be limping anymore, thank Noah.

Without a word, Sonja hugged him. He held her back tightly, without pulling away. He _must_ be in bad shape.

"I'm sorry, Sonja," he said.

"No, _I'm_ sorry. All of this was my fault."

"No. You didn’t do anything wrong. And I should have warned you."

Typical Stocke. At least, other than the fact that he was still hugging her; she’d expected him to let go by now. And was it just her imagination, or was his upper-class accent less faint than usual? “I’m just glad to have you back,” she said.

"I don't... think I can change this, but if you want, I can try," Stocke said, uncertain and hesitant, as if the admission stuck in his throat.

"No!" Sonja said, giving him one final squeeze for emphasis, then stepping back so she could look him in the eyes. "We have no idea what complications that could cause. Besides, we have no way to know something like this won't happen again, especially if you're going to keep cleaning up after Heiss. For all we know it might not even have worn off, and all four of you could turn back again any minute now."

If Sonja didn’t know Stocke so well, she might have missed the hint of a wince. "You're right," he said, looking away. Then, not meeting her eyes, he added, "You'll... need to change the questions you use to check my memory, though."

She gave him a sharp look. "What do you mean? How much do you remember?"

"It's not as if what Heiss did is gone. But I remember what I... thought about, back there."

"So if I asked you what your bedroom looked like...?"

"I could describe it down to the _wallpaper_ ," he said, bitterness edging his words.

“Stocke...” she began, but trailed off. What could you say?

“That can wait,” she said decisively. “I’m not interrogating you until you’ve at least slept.” Especially not with the memory fresh in her mind of the ten-year-old prince trying as hard as he could to stop her from seeing him cry.

“I’m not tired,” he said. She didn’t believe him. “But fine.” He ran a distracted hand through his hair. “I... need to apologize to Raynie and Marco, first.”

“Rosch will want to talk to you, too,” Sonja said. “And he’ll probably hug you, so fair warning.”

Stocke smiled, just a little. “That won’t be a problem. He’s easier to get away from than you. With his Gauntlet off, all I need to do is go right.”

Sonja snorted. “Well, don’t go trying too hard to get away. You’ve already had your one unauthorized escape today. I’m going to get you food, and you’re not going to argue about it, and-” She jabbed a finger at him. “-if you’re not in this ward when I get back, you’re going to regret it.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to leave.” He didn’t look as though he was lying, but that didn’t mean much. The man had a phenomenal poker face.

“You’d better not!” she said. “Go talk to the others. I’m sure they’ll be glad to see you.” She turned and headed for the door.

“Sonja, wait!” He didn’t raise his voice, but the urgency in it stopped her cold. She looked back at him.

“If this... does happen again, I’d like to ask one favor.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait, you don’t mean-”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I don’t know that it will. But... if it does, I... want you to pretend you don’t know who I am.”

The words hung in the air for a long moment. “Say you found me passed out in the street,” he said, looking at anything but her. “Make me think I’m free to leave, but otherwise treat me the way you would if I was... anyone else.”

“Before, you...” Maybe she ought to be thinking of the two of them as different people- in a very real sense, they were- but she couldn’t, somehow. There’d been something too familiar in Ernst’s blue-green eyes.

The corner of his mouth twisted. “I know. Ignore what I said.”

Sonja sighed. He was even worse than Rosch, sometimes.

“Stocke, talk to me,” she said. “I promise I’ll do what you’re asking, but I need to know why.”

He gave her a long, assessing look. Yes, there was a resemblance. The fear might be gone, but the way he searched her face was the same. Eventually, though, he let out a heavy breath, and Sonja knew she’d won.

“No matter what you do, I’ll- he’ll think he’s been kidnapped,” Stocke said. “But if I don’t think you know anything, I might think you’re not in on it. I’ll probably decide you found me after I escaped.”

“Then... Stocke, if someone brought me a child who’d fallen unconscious, I wouldn’t let them out of my care until I was sure they had somewhere to go back to. But you just told me not to keep you, and... I don’t think asking about your family is a good idea.”

“If I think you’re trying to keep me here, I’ll run,” he said, rubbing his eyes. She really was going to have to make sure he got some sleep. “As for the rest, I leave it up to you. If you don’t ask, I might get suspicious, but if you ask too much, I might think you’re trying to get information out of me. It doesn’t much matter to me either way.”

“You’re a good liar.”

He blinked in surprise. “What?”

“I haven’t forgotten the way you sounded when you were talking about your father earlier, Stocke,” she said. “It matters.”

He looked away. A good liar he might be, but he wasn’t nearly as talented at covering up when he got caught.

“All right. If it does happen again, I’ll ask how to get in touch with your family, let you lie, and then I won’t push any farther. Will that do?”

“That should be fine,” he said. She couldn’t tell whether he’d noticed the irony in her voice or not.

The silence stretched again. “If that’s all-” Sonja began, at the same time Stocke said, “There’s one thing-”

They both stopped. “You first,” she said.

“I asked around in Granorg when I... got back,” he said. “They didn’t want to talk to me, so it took a few tries. But according to the ones in the Resistance who knew him, Ernst was about twelve when he first started making trouble. He was fourteen when King Victor started taking it seriously.”

 _A few tries_. Funny how much a phrase like that could imply when he said it.

“I wouldn’t have guessed I was so...” He trailed off, hand tightening on his arm.

“Afraid?”

She wasn’t really expecting him to answer that. This was Stocke, after all- he didn’t like admitting he had feelings at the best of times.

“...Yeah,” he said, softly.

She gave in and hugged him again.

“I’m _fine_ , Sonja,” he said, but it was a token protest. She knew from experience that if you tried to touch him when he didn’t want it, he shied away; this time, he didn’t so much as tense.

She was thinking about fear, and about anger. Most likely, he was too.


End file.
